


Interference

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets and demons are unconvered through a series of chance encounters between Elijah and Billy. As told through Elijah's eyes.</p><p>Warnings are for later chapters, will most likely morph into OT3. However, the hurt/no confort is nothing akin to burns, cuts, or whips. If anything, the hurt is emotional.  Violence is for angry sex. For the moment is Billijah.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one is for nothing_to_say who wanted _angst, first time, time-setting is not important...Elijah and Billy in a kilt. *nod* Yup. Both of them._ First Billijah don't slay me. No beta cause this was written late, about 10 mins after I posted the last fic.
> 
> Warnings are for later chapters, will most likely morph into OT3. However, the hurt/no confort is nothing akin to burns, cuts, or whips. If anything, the hurt is emotional. Violence is for angry sex. For the moment is Billijah.  
> 

"I can’t believe you managed to convince me to wear this."

"Neither can I. Your legs are paler than mine, and that’s saying something. Dunno for sure, but I think I might be breaking a law here, letting you out."

I looked at him, my jaw set and lips curled into a pointed scowl, and made sure he saw just how my "big eyes" could roll. Now, we would have to wait for Dom to arrive, which, knowing Dom, would mean I would be here with Billy, on his couch, alone, for at least one hour.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. Part of me was thrilled at the prospect of being alone with the Scot, even if I had to endure itchy thighs because I was allergic to wool. I confess I had just an eensy teensy bit of a crush on the man. Then again, who could blame me? I was not sure what was about him that drove this desire, though I had a good idea. Maybe it was his calves, which, now exposed in the woolen kilt, would flex and relax nicely as he stalked across the room, only pausing to take a pissy look at his watch and mutter something foul under his breath about Dom’s tardiness.

The man really hated to be late.

Maybe it was his stomach, which, through the thin cotton shirt he now wore could be plainly seen, flat, and just toned enough to suggest the strength behind the garment.

Maybe, it was his eyes, which kept flickering over to steal a glance at me, when he thought I wasn’t looking, and then once again to glare at the face of his watch. Whatever it was, it was enough to loosen my tongue and let one of the stupidest questions ever uttered in history come flying from my lips.

"So, what’s under your kilt? I mean, do you guys _really_ go commando?"

He paused mid-pace, and turned around on his heels. The sole of his boots squeaked loudly on the buffed wood floor, and when I dared to look at him, to decipher his reaction, his spiky hair glowed white in the summer sunlight.

His eyes were as green as the highlands.

"You really want to know Elijah?" His voice was light as a fluff of cotton, but with an edge sharper than a saber.

I wondered if he saw my shiver when he said my name, but one glimpse of his tongue as it darted onto his babyish upper lip for a quick second, and I soon forgot what the hell we were even talking about. He stood there, hands resting on his hips, and I reminded myself that he was waiting for an answer.

"Sure I want to know. Since I’m stuck in this damned thing, I figure I had better be authentic through and through."

He nodded slowly for a moment, and I squirmed under his gaze. The man was so raw sometimes, it would just get to me. He seemed to be deliberating over something, and at length, he strode across the room, and stood above me, looking down with half-lidded eyes.

"Elijah, I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I’m going to come out and say it. You want me no? I’ve seen it in your eyes on more than one occasion, so there isn’t much since in denying it."

I blanched at his froward approach, but that didn't stop me from nodding slowly.

"Judging by your expression, I’m assuming you’ve never fucked a guy though, am I correct in this assumption as well?"

I was sure the tips of my ears were red, but once again, I answered honestly.

He took a deep shivering sigh, and knelt in front of me.

"Then we won’t be doing what I had hoped for, but that doesn't mean this can’t be good."

"What do you mean?"

"You asked what was under my kilt."

He rose onto his feet again, and pressed me down onto the couch.

"I intend to show you."

Somehow, his hands had managed to slip up under my kilt and with a practiced skill pulled my cock out of the hole in my boxers and stroked me into a state of madding arousal. My skin was torn between the smooth hand and the rough underbelly of the kilt on my skin.

"How-how do you-"

All coherent thought left my brain via my ears, when his fingers twirled around the head and he executed a particularly devilish twist of his wrist.

"You see Elijah, I’ve wanted you for a long time, but things are complicated."

I closed my eyes to block out the familiar light that shone in his eyes.

"Nothing complicated about it Billy-"

"Oh but there is. I want you," his legs were planted on either side of my own, and that damned hand was still stroking me, swiveling that wrist, and the other hand had joined in on the fun, occasionally giving my balls a gentle squeeze. When I let out a strangled cry, he grinned like a predatory cat.

"I want you, but I love him." He punctuated this remark by leaning forward and up, and pressed his weight into his knees, and his cock onto my own. The sweet friction, only slightly soothed by the hot liquid between us, and the heat of the air trapped in the wool, was enough to make my toes tingle. He began a gentle rock, and I could hear the couch springs groan under our weight.

"So there lies the complication. Because I could fuck you-"

I let out a hiss, as the speed between us quickened, and my own hips were joining in.

"But you’d be thinking of him, wouldn't you Billy?"

I hadn’t meant for it to come out like a sob, but there it was, laid bare before us. He dug his hands into my crotch, and with a few swift gentle touches, had me teetering on the edge.

"Yes, yes, I would, I would be thinking about him-"

"His eyes, his lips, the curve of his neck-"

I bit my lip to stop myself, before he could figure out I was not talking about Dom.

"Yes, his hands, his voice, the way he smells in the morning when he curls up behind me, holds me, never knowing how he drives me fucking crazy-"

Our pace quickened, and when he no longer heard my cries, he turned his fingers into a hot vice, and wrapped our cocks in it. I hit my head on the wall when I thew my head back.

"And he’ll never know, cause I won’t tell him, fuck this feels…so good…"

"Soon Billy." I whimpered, and I nearly slipped on the floor I was lifting my hips so high. My hands had fistfuls of cushion. The slide got hotter, and the sparks sputtered and licked up my spine, and when I opened my eyes and looked into his, I could see the contents of his very heart before me. I fell to pieces immediately.

"Dom-" His disjointed whisper burned my neck and soon his hot juices joined my own. I let out the shudder I had concealed when he first approached me, and stroked the back of his head.

For fifteen minutes we sat there, sticky and boneless, until his knees complained and my thighs joined in. When he cleaned me up, he didn't look me in the eyes. Two minutes before Dom arrived, right on time and 58 minutes late, he turned to me, as he pulled his keys from the counter and prepared to leave. I did my best to look casual, silently wishing for pockets to stuff my hands into.

"I wouldn't ask a Scot what’s under his kilt again Elijah. It’s considered incredibly rude."

I managed a smile, and he turned to answer Dom’s flustered knock on the door.

When in the car, Billy even managed to crack a joke to Dom, about my Yankee manners and sense of propriety.

True to form, Dom couldn't resist temptation and asked, "So Billy, what’s under your kilt?"

He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, before glancing at me in the rear view mirror.

"My monster."


	2. Chapter 2

“I seemed to recall advising you not to ask a Scot what’s under his kilt, Elijah.”

His brogue was thick and heavy in the cold New York air, as he shoved me against the wall, and snatched my shirt out of my dress pants, all teeth and tongue against my newly exposed neck. I know I whimpered, and clung to his sweater clad arms, but I was unable to stop, as it had been months since that summer afternoon, when he took what he wanted and I gave more than he knew. When he looked into my face, hoping to see fear, he saw want and smug, a new trait I had picked up from Dom. He was not amused.

"He thinks I don't know that he's fucked you, but I do." The clink of metal as he undid my belt was strange in my ears, and I wondered as he flipped me around and slammed me into the wall, if I had had too much to drink at the after party.

There was a brief hesitation, but a breath really, before he shoved two fingers in me, and began to stretch, and demanded supplication roughly. I grit my teeth but didn’t cry out.

"He thinks I don't care, so he flaunts it in my face, the little marks on his skin, and that _fucked_ look in his eyes. But I care."

I felt rather than heard the soft rustle of itchy wool, and then he was deep within me, and groaning.

"And it drives me crazy."

The hitch in his voice, combined with the scent of him, the pissy alley, and the cool night air, made my head swim, and I cried out and was awarded with a firm hand over my mouth.

“Shhh.” He snarled, and dug even nails into my waist. When I bucked my hips at the feel of the biting pain, I heard his breath hitch in surprise, and he leaned forward and smirked.

His eyes flashed with question, so you like pain huh?

My eyes fluttered closed, and I was dimly aware of the muffled whimper that escaped from my throat, and I felt sharp teeth dig into the side of my neck, and bite until he broke the skin.

“Maybe when he sees this, he'll ask you who gave it to you, would you like that, Elijah?"

_Yes._

I never made one noise. I couldn’t, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, as it was bad enough I had even gotten to this point. I should have had more resolve, should have been able to back down from the cocky smirk and flash of green from across the room, but I couldn’t. He lapped away the hurt and the traces of red on my skin, and with an evil twist of the wrist, I came, hot and fast against my dress shirt.

He followed shortly after me, Dom’s name fast on his lips.

“Clean up, Elijah,” he murmured, and I heard the gentle rub of leather on wool as he adjusted his sporran and smoothed his kilt. “You need to make yourself presentable.”

I nodded dumbly, staring at the dark wall until the shapes of the bricks could not be distinguished from the sound of his footsteps as he walked away.

Before he reached the edge of the streetlight glow, I called after him, a wry smile on my face.

“Hey Billy, I think know now what’s underneath your kilt.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and then left me in the dark, to deal with his monster.


	3. Chapter 3

“When is Dom coming back?” His voice was blend of silk and ice, as he settled into our lone armchair, legs spaced too far apart to be appropriate in a kilt. I could see nothing, granted, as the wool and sporran covered his modesty, but I _knew_ what was underneath the blue and black hues-had spent weeks touching the reminders of our last encounter, my fingers brushing over the bruises in the shower, and then stroking myself until I would come, uncertain of whose name I whispered against the mist and tile.

His impatient sigh reminded me that I was not alone and in my shower, but face to face with the real McCoy, and I blinked stupidly before replying.

“Not till later tonight. You’re stuck here with me for the afternoon, Boyd.”

I smiled at him. Well, it may have been a smile, or a “fuck you” sneer, I wasn’t sure, but whatever the case, it riled him up, I saw it in the flicker in his eyes, and he stood up abruptly, and stared at the various pictures that were up on the wall, next to my TV. Most were from filming: candid pictures of the guys acting like dumb asses between takes, but a few were of close friends and relatives.

“S’like stained glass.” He gestured to the colorful wall.

“Yea,” I remarked, and then lost whatever thought I might have had at the sight of him staring at the last picture in the row: a picture of me and Dom taken recently. I was sitting on his lap, making a silly face and flipping the photographer off defiantly. He curled the corners of his lips up a bit, and chuffed softly, before he turned around and looked at me.

“This evening huh?” he remarked softly, and stalked, yea, stalked across the room to my spot on the beanbag.

“Ayup,” I replied, and fingered a stray string on my jeans. He looked down, hands on his hips, and after a few tense moments, abandoned all pretense.

“Get up, Elijah.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll throw out my back if I try to fuck you in that beanbag.” I let out a startled choke, and he tugged at my wrist until I was up on my feet and being pulled down the hallway.

“Who says I want to fuck you, Billy? What the hell makes you so damn special huh? I’ve got Dom.”

It was only when he swiveled me around and dug his hands into my waist, that I realized mentioning Dom might have been a bad idea.

“Say it.” he snarled, and I felt the half moons from his nails bloom on my skin.

“No,” I snapped, and with a twist, pulled my hands from his grip and shoved him against the wall until our faces were a breath away from each other. He knew that once I was this close to him, I would be hard-pressed to deny him, but I would be damned before I gave him the satisfaction. I dug my forearm into his chest to hold him back, pressing until I knew it would be painful, and then, with my free hand, trailed my fingers down until they reached the hem of his kilt. Before I could lift it up and handle him the way I so dearly wanted to, he maneuvered out of my grasp, and was all but tossing me onto the bed, before pressing his body flush against mine. His grip on my wrists, pressed above my head, was like shackles.

“Say it, Elijah.” he repeated, and this time, I was loathe to deny him.

“What’s under-“ he didn’t need to hear the extent of my submission, his lips slammed onto mine after two words. Part of me wanted to giggle at his odd demand, because what kind of fucking nut wants you to ask that kind of question before fucking you? But then, Dom had made some freaky requests in his lifetime, and they both were British.

Everyone knows the Brits have some fucked up kinks.

Now that we understood one another, he was more than happy to fuck me properly, though he didn’t fool around with foreplay and petting. He never did: never let me blow him, never got us too worked up before he fucked me, and he _always_ fucked me, not the other way around. Before I could get used to the feel of his dick against my hip, it was pressed against my back, as he pulled me up off the bed and onto my hands and knees. He was trembling slightly, from want or nerves I couldn’t tell, and I heard the familiar wrapper open and the slick noise as he prepared himself, and then he was pounding into me, until his hip bones clattered against my ass.

I hissed sharply at first, unprepared and still sore from my sex with Dom the night before, after I came home to find him drunk and morose, though he wouldn’t talk bout why. If Billy heard my soft complaints he didn’t care, and I wondered if I would bleed in the morning. Despite the searing tear that would strike me on every third thrust, I found myself hardening again and a delicious tingle spread from my belly until I was dying for him to touch me and finish me off. The fucker knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t move to touch myself, because then we would have to change positions, and nothing could or would feel as good as this. In a few brief moments, I felt my thighs tremble warningly, and Bill must have sensed the end too, because he pulled me up from our position, until we were both on our knees, my hands grasping his arms for balance.

“Ah, fucker!” I winced again, as a new wave of soreness struck me, though not enough to stop me from pressing back in a counter thrust.

“Shut it.” he remarked in a low voice, his arms tightening their hold around me. I closed my eyes and inhaled the smell of his musky cologne and our sex in the air. For a moment my mind wandered and I mentally slapped myself for not cracking a window or turning on a fan to air the room out. Before I knew it I was asking myself if I had locked the door, but that thought got tangled up on the fist that wrapped around my cock, and started pumping me frantically.

“Billy-“

“Still sore, huh? Did he fuck you last night?” He swiveled his wrist, a move he was notorious for, and I wondered amidst the haze if he ever thought it was a pity he had a girlfriend who would never know how talented the man was at giving hand jobs.

“Yes, he did, and then I fucked him,” I snapped back, and I wished I hadn’t bitten off my nails, as I SO wanted to dig them into his firm arm, and bite back a little.

“Did you make him call your name when he came?” he hissed, and pumped frantically, until I was so close, just a little more.

“No, he called your name,” I whispered, and his startled moan undid me, and with a loud curse I spilled my seed all over his hand, and slumped forward a bit boneless.

A soft breeze made me shiver, as my body was still sensitized from the orgasm and his hand which was still riling small aftershocks from me, and when I opened my eyes my heart nearly stopped.

Dom was leaning against the doorway. Watching us.

 

Part of me blushed profusely from shame and fear, but a deeper part of me made my dick jump slightly, especially when I saw the rage that burned in Dom’s eyes, no doubt to match that of Billy’s as the two stared at one another. I started to wonder how long he had been watching us, listening to our fucking in the hallway before he came, but my question was answered when I saw Dom’s palm trail down onto his crotch, as he rubbed the heel of his palms, there. Billy’s breath hitched and when I turned to look up into his face to see if he would stop, his reply was his tongue as it lapped up my own, curling and tasting almost obscenely. Dom must have seen something he liked, because he started breathing hard, and I heard the sound of denim clearing metal as he undid his jeans. When Billy saw Dom’s hand slip under, and could almost hear his name on Dom’s lips as the man stroked himself, it was too much, and with a soft _Dom!_ he emptied himself deep inside me.

 

By the time Bill’s pulsed slowed, Dom was gone, presumably in the kitchen, though I was too weak to move.

“Elijah,“ Bill began, breathless.

“I know.”


End file.
